


Clouds

by Fire_Bear



Series: FrUK Week 2016 [6]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Colours, Day 6, First Meetings, FrUK Week 2016, London, M/M, Music, Musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cloudy day in London, Francis comes across a talented busker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> Another first meeting story.
> 
> Whoops.
> 
> But I actually really like this story… Dammit, I don’t need another story to write. ;A;
> 
> (I wrote a whole song for this and I’ll add it to the notes at the end.)

Another gloomy day in London saw Francis glancing up at the grey sky and its blanket of clouds. He could never tell when it would rain or when it would stay dry. Some days the sun even peeked out only to be covered again by the eternal cloud cover. Had he remembered his umbrella? If it was in his bag, he wasn't sure he wanted to stop and dig through it: his papers and equipment could get damaged.

Sighing, he crossed another road. He'd gotten a bit turned about when he had gotten off the Tube at the wrong station but he'd used his phone to find the place and knew he had to now navigate one of the busiest shopping streets in the world: Oxford Street. Hopefully, nobody would get in his way as he rushed along.  Not for the first time, he wished he'd stayed in Paris.

Unfortunately, as soon as he reached the busier part of the street, he was blocked by a mother and her pram. Trying not to sigh, Francis eventually dodged around her, almost bumping into a couple of teenage girls laden with bags. The majority of people were, thankfully, moving in one direction. A few, however, made overtaking them extremely difficult.

Becoming irritated, Francis almost missed him, the noise of the crowd almost drowning him out. Thankfully, his voice rang out, the chords of his acoustic guitar clear and crisp. Francis slowed, surprised, and looked for him, turning his head this way and that. Finally, he found the young man – teenager, really – who stood in front of a shop window, just tucked out of the way of passers-by.

His hair was a mess, as if he hadn't bothered to brush it. Or, perhaps, he had no way of fixing the mess. All his clothes seemed a shabby mess, though they seemed to have been artfully ripped or written on. A message of luck was a stark black against his pale green hoodie. Another was one of love or appreciation of his music. His jeans clung to him but there were so many holes, he might have been better off without them. Scruffy, red Converses completed his look, if that was what it could be called.

Eyes closed, he sang clearly, putting all his feeling behind the lyrics. Francis gravitated towards him as did some others. The majority of them were girls, giggling and blushing. Some of them were men, sniggering at his choice in clothing. Without acknowledging them, the teen continued to sing, belting out a song to rival the noise of the crowd. Sidling closer, Francis listened intently to the lyrics.

 

> “ _...beloved one  
>  Never will you be mine again._
> 
> _Someone come to me under this sky_  
>  _I have lived for so long in this lie_  
>  _And need you to help me live;_  
>  _For this, my heart, I'll give.”_

At that point, the man opened his eyes and Francis realised that they were a vivid green, something he had long associated with love. All his past lovers had had green eyes, something he had noticed over time. If they weren't green, they were hazel and Francis's family had begun to say he had a type, that something attracted him to the colour. Francis agreed and so he was surprised to find that the man's eyes were brighter than anyone else he had been with.

The man winked at his audience, glancing curiously at Francis. The Frenchman realised that he was the only one wearing a suit in the vicinity. Well, the only one who had bothered to stop and wasn't chattering into his phone.

 

> “ _Never, ever let me say_  
>  _My time with you will just be grey:_  
>  _It will be pink and orange and red._  
>  _You will love me in their stead._
> 
> _A darling girl._  
>  _A darling boy._  
>  _I will find you,_  
>  _Let you love me.”_

As the last chord rang out, Francis startled, realising that he had been standing still for the better part of two minutes. He was probably running late. However, he couldn't bring himself to move, could only stare at the young man, marvelling at what was obviously an original song. The man was laughing at the squealing of the girls who flocked to his side. As he watched, some of them drew out their purses and dropped money into the guitar case at the man's feet. He thanked them and continued to speak to them, though it sounded to Francis as though he was deflecting questions about the origins of the song.

It was something he was rather interested in as well.

Once the girls had left and everyone who had heard the song had wandered off, the man began to listlessly strum his guitar. Carefully, Francis drew closer. Then the busker looked up and straight at him: he felt caught, trapped by that gaze. Yet he made no attempts to free himself as he stepped closer, putting more confidence in his steps.

“You wantin' somethin', mate?” the busker asked, his London accent rather thick. “If you're wantin' me to move, you're gonna haveta show me some sorta ID or somethin'.”

“No, no,” said Francis, hastily. “No, I have no intention of driving you away.”

The man snorted. “French, huh? What d'you want?”

“I was just wondering... Well. Is this what you do for a living?”

“What of it?” demanded the man, eyes narrowed.

“No, it's just-!” Francis exclaimed, waving his hands in an attempt to placate the musician. “You're... You're really good, Monsieur...?”

“Arthur,” the man provided. “I ain't tellin' you my last name.”

“You see, I work with a particular company,” Francis explained, hurriedly digging out his wallet. “We produce music, you see,” he added, handing over his business card.

With a suspicious look, Arthur took the card and looked it over. His eyes widened as he took in the details. “Is this...? Are you serious?!” he exclaimed, accent suddenly changing. “How am I supposed to know if this is real or not? You're not scamming me, are you?” His suspicious look was back but, this time, it didn't affect Francis who frowned back at him.

“What happened to your voice?” he asked.

“Ah, my accent?” Arthur grinned at him, a cocky thing that sent shivers down Francis's spine: he had to tense to stop himself from shuddering. “You see, people tend to give me more money if they think I'm an unlucky homeless guy with a good voice. I actually have gigs in some of the pubs 'round about. Nobody's put two and two together yet. And you'd better not tell anyone, Frenchie.”

“My name's on the card,” Francis told him, trying not to pout.

Arthur laughed. “Yeah, okay, whatever. I don't care about that. Are you actually offering to pay for me to record my stuff?”

“I'd like to,” Francis agreed, nodding vigorously which seemed to amuse Arthur. “That song was lovely. I absolutely loved it. In fact, I'd like to hear the whole thing.” He remembered where he was supposed to be and glanced at his watch. “Merde. I have to be at the studio right now...”

“So you're just going to bugger off and leave me with this card? Going to make me phone to be put through to a machine? What use is that to me?” Arthur scowled at him and looked on the cusp of crushing the card and throwing it away.

“Please, I- You say you play in pubs. Will you be playing that song tonight? I could maybe convince my boss to come along, too...”

For a moment, Arthur stared at him, obviously trying to work out whether he was the real deal or not. Then he tucked the card into his back pocket. “Don't be stupid,” he said. “Don't you music producers know the 'amateurs' post their music on YouTube? Look up Tea4man there and you'll find my stuff. It's in the playlist marked 'Heaven'. If you're the real thing, get your people to message me on there. I'm not letting you know where I'm going to be, idiot.”

Francis smiled with relief, glad Arthur wasn't telling him to 'get stuffed' or whatever British expression he would use. After a while, he realised he was staring. Arthur was staring back, a bemused expression on his fact. “Ah,” said Francis, willing himself not to blush. “I will... Er... I have to go. Thank you. I mean, for the song. I hope you find someone soon.”

“Don't you worry,” said Arthur, a genuine smile on his face. “I'm sure I'll see them soon.”

With warm cheeks, Francis nodded, lifted his hand in farewell and rushed off, trying not to let himself dwell on Arthur's parting words.

**Author's Note:**

> So here’s that song. There’s no title for it and I was trying to make it something linked to the story and the relationship and stuff.
>
>> Come back to me under a cloudy sky  
> You're the only one to bring me high  
> To take me up to see the sun  
> And let me be your only one.
>> 
>> Never let me try to say  
> That my time with you was grey:  
> It was gold and white and blue.  
> I could never ever hate you.
>> 
>> My darling, darling girl.  
> My darling, darling boy.  
> My darling, beloved one  
> Forever will I be yours.
>> 
>> Come back to me under a livid sky  
> I never wanted to see you fly  
> Words and shouts to hurt and desire  
> To hate, stoking up the fire.
>> 
>> Never let me try to say  
> That my time with you was grey:  
> It was red and green and black.  
> Never would you want me back.
>> 
>> My darling, darling girl.  
> My darling, darling boy.  
> My darling, beloved one  
> Never will you be mine again.
>> 
>> Someone come to me under this sky  
> I have lived for so long in this lie  
> And need you to help me live;  
> For this, my heart, I'll give.
>> 
>> Never, ever let me say  
> My time with you will just be grey:  
> It will be pink and orange and red.  
> You will love me in their stead.
>> 
>> A darling girl.  
> A darling boy.  
> I will find you,  
> Let you love me.


End file.
